


Inbetween

by HelloTroggy



Series: Within Time and Space [3]
Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom!Mando, Dom/sub Play, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, If the Crest is Rocking, No use of y/n, One Shot, One Shot Episode, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink elements, Reader Insert, Season 2 spoilers, SweetGirl!Reader, The Bucket is Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28499442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloTroggy/pseuds/HelloTroggy
Summary: Din Djarin has come to a liminal space. He remembers you, and how you were with him the last time. Was that so long ago?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Mando/you, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Series: Within Time and Space [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079729
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acacia_Ren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacia_Ren/gifts).



Is this it? Is this what he’s crossed the fucking galaxy for? The Jedi is gone too soon, and the space around him feels too open. He feels too bare. In an instant, the helmet is back where it belongs. He is covered. He will be fine.

In a heel's turn, the Mandalorian is facing allies and enemies alike. Dune, Fett, and Shand; the Princess and her warriors, and a monster. He takes Her Highness in first, the would-be ruler of Mandalore. Something like composure is smeared across her bare face, but there's an ugly rage close to the surface. He can't make himself care.

The Darksaber leaves his hand, makes a short arch, and lands at Bo-Katan Kryze's boot. Before a word can leave her mouth, he's already gone, cloak snapping with the force of his departure. She chooses not to say anything as the others follow him out. For now, Moff Gideon is on the floor before her, stunned speechless by what he’s seen. She picks up the legendary weapon with trembling fingers, and the sound she makes when she activates the blade is one of deep satisfaction.

Once aboard the Slave I, no one tries to talk to him. Assuming rightly that he’s best left alone to heal. Within his allotted bunk, Din Djarin removes his helmet and armor. Now left with nothing else, he sinks to the floor for meditation and reflection.

The Kid… Grogu. He’s going to a better place. That wizard carved his way through over a dozen Dark Troopers like they were practice dummies. Those same clankers had handed him his ass on a Beskar platter. There couldn’t be a safer place in the universe than by Luke Skywalker’s side.

He can’t help but chuckle at his predicament. Now what? The Crest is gone. There is no home or haven to go to. All he has is his armor, a blaster, and the spear. He doesn’t even have a spare pair of kriffing underwear.

There’s this old Hog, and Fett might be inclined to take him on. First things first. They’d need to stop by Navarro, and get the rebel back to her base. That’s only a four hour jump from where they’d been on the Imp Cruiser, he guesses.

Four hours of what, though? His ass is already numb, and his hip will have opinions about even this brief amount of time on the floor. Giving up, Din pulls himself into the bed and rolls onto his back. An arm goes under his head and the other covers his middle.

Rock bottom is a good place to build up from. Can’t sink much lower, right? He considers the shiny heap beside his bunk. What was that worth now? He’d abandoned his Creed, showed his face. The Kid deserved to see. Deserved to know that he mattered more than anything else; that he was more important than anything that had come before.

He considered what his life had been before the Kid. Hell, their time together was comparatively short, but so much longer in a way Din couldn’t explain. What was he back then? Before? Another Mandalorian and another bounty hunter? Violence was The Way, and that had suited him. But now? He’d lived by another Way. So many times he’d done his best to keep others out of harm. He’d been taught to be a warrior, and he’d used his training to find people in one place and take them to another. Didn’t matter why they had to come in, didn’t matter where they went after he got paid.

He had changed everything. Protecting Him had changed everything.

Rolling over to swipe the bucket from the floor, he laid back in the bunk and took a moment to observe what was his face to almost everyone. The T visor housing all manner of scanners and trackers. The light wasn’t bright in his quarters, so there wasn’t much for the steel to reflect. Din ran his finger tips over the metal, feeling it’s smoothness in some places. And there on the left temple, he where the blasted droid had hammered into him. Not a single blemish.

Truly astounding stuff, the steel of Mandalorians. It’d take a lot to break it, but what about what’s inside? The meaty bits that use the metal? He’s not so durable, it would seem. Shame comes over him in waves as he lies down, looking up at the mark of his Creed. Letting living beings see his face was a failure, wasn’t it? His Oath was garbage now. If he was nothing more than his Oath, then he too was garbage. This is the Way… isn’t it?

No one says anything when the Mandalorian steps out of his borrowed quarters. Shand is in the cockpit with Fett, and Dune is scrolling through her feed on Dataslate. The Shocktrooper looks him up and down and nods “Mando.” He returns her nod. At the sound of conversation, the co-pilot swivels to let them know they’ll be arriving shortly and it’s best to be buckled in the next five.

Opting to not bother waiting, he takes the jumpseat opposite Dune; who’s looking like she has something to say. No sooner has he finished buckling the seating harness does she begin, “You know, I was just looking through the internal job postings” he cocks his head, almost impressed she’s actually trying. “You’d be well suited to quite a few postings on-”. “I’m gonna stop you there.” his tone is clipped. “You want me to let your bosses put a collar on me?" Dune looks like she's been slapped. He continues, "Do their bidding, enforce their rules?” Her face grows harder with every word. “Maybe they’ll set me up with my own bed and food bowl.” Honestly, he was almost surprised at her surprise. “You saw what the Empire did.” pointing sharply at the tear under her eye. “What they were willing to do to put every single one of us under their boot?”

He let her words hang in the air. Because she's not wrong. The Empire was a machine of monsters that bent the galaxy to its will for almost 20 years. The blood of Alderaanians ran hot with the need for vengeance, and he couldn't fault her feelings. She couldn't expect him to share them. The Republic before the Empire had only served itself, why should the new one be any better? It was the same individuals, fighting over the same kriffing shit, and this time a different team held the winner’s title. One government was as good as any other, and he’d not serve evil in the name of the lesser.

“I’ll work with you, on my terms. Not for your bosses.” Dune’s jaw is set in a look hard enough to break bedrock, “I know you, and I’ll fight for you.” Wordlessly, her arms fold over her chest, proudly flexing her stripes. Mando crosses his own to mirror her, and adds a leg over a knee. Confident. Comfortable. The matter is closed. He’s not the enemy; this isn’t something that really matters. She knows she’s lost this fight. A nod signals her surrender, and she’s silent the remainder of the flight. The Slave I lands without incident. Mando hangs back, after Fett and Shand disembark. Cara Dune, Marshall of the New Republic doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look up at him initially. But after a moment too much of his silent presence, she caves. She stands with her gear over one shoulder, and offers her hand. Mando returns her nod from earlier and takes her grip.

When he emerges into the early evening Navarro air, the duo is waiting. Fennec Shand gives him a curious look, but gives Boba Fett a nod before departing for an errand. Leaving the two of them alone. “Not gonna turn law man, after all? You figuring I’ve got a spot for you?” One bucket helmet to another doesn’t give away much, but over their time together, Din Djarin had grown to respect the son of Jango. “Depends where you’re going. And what you’re about.” A scoff comes from Fett’s modulator, but it’s followed by a chuckle. “Tatooine. Cleaning up a mess I left. Could use a hand, could go without. Your call.”

Not a bad option, but it’s only the second one he’s seen. “Maybe. It’ll take you about three hours to restock and refuel, yeah.” Fett gives a noncommittal shrug. “If I’m not back, you’ll have my answer.” With a bag packed, the Mandalorian heads out towards the city’s commons. He needs to check something now that he’s at a hub.

  
__________

  
“Mando, enjoy your rewards!” Karga leans forward and gesticulates with a forefinger, “Buy a camtano of spice. By the time you come out of hyperdrive, you will have forgotten all about it”. He leaves the cantina without a word, or camtano.

The door to the Crest has just sealed when his comm chirps. “Hey Mando!” it’s your voice coming through the link, cutting through his thoughts. “Enjoy your rewards” the disgraced magistrate’s words dare him. “Hey.” he answers back “I _was_ about to take off” he’s not turning you down. You make a concerned noise “Have I missed you completely?”.

“No, I have a bit.”

You’re in the hull alone. The hatch has just shut, but he isn’t anywhere to be seen. “It’s been a second since I saw you last, Mando.” you call out, trying not to sound too nervous. “Wasn’t the last time that contraband run to Corellia? Kriff, that was like three months past, I think”. “Do you want to talk or do you want my attention?” his modulated baritone sounds over the cabin PA. You feel a blush creep up your chest. Remembering what the difference means, even after a bit.

“I… I guess I don’t really have a lot to talk about.”

The lights in the bay go out, and you hear the hiss and creaking of a hatch door somewhere in front and above you. The sound of heavy boots on a ladder, then heavy boots on grate panel flooring. You about jump out of your skin when his hand makes contact with your tit. He gives you a satisfied hum, and squeezes your breast ever so slightly.

You blindly reach toward where you heard his voice come from, but your wrist is caught in his leather grip and then tugged forward. “It’s been a while.” you huff out a surprised laugh “Would’ve thought you’d forget little old me.” Your self-deprecation is cut short by a soft kiss. You melt against him, your first time kissing Mando is. Stars. It's amazing. It's devastating when his lips leave yours, even if they do work over your cheek, up to your ear to whisper so softly “I had fun”.

In the dark, no one can see the shade of crimson you’re turning. There’s no mechanical modulation to the sound. “You’re not wearing the helmet” you don’t know why, but your voice is a whisper. “It’s dark.” is all he says back. “And I seem to recall a deal you made with me?” he continues, encircling you in his arms.

You’re pressed up against his armored chest, and it feels different? “Did you get new armor?” the question is blurted out by your mind trying to keep up with what’s happening. “Maybe I did. Are you going to honor your word?” he won’t be distracted. You swallow, trying to get your vocal cords to work through your nerves. “I… ah. I said I’d go down on you, right?”

“You did.”

“Are you wanting me to get on my knees, right now?”

He pulls you forwards and through a door. The Captain’s quarters. A gentle push on your shoulders has you on your duff, and on his bed judging by the squish and give under you. His leather palm is warm on your cheek. “You sure?” He did that before, you remember. Asked you. “Yes”, it’s a breathy sound when it comes from you, you’re not coy. If you want something, you’re not good at pretending otherwise.

This is endearing to him in a way, how plain you are in your intentions. He’s half hard at how eager you are. There’s nothing more erotic than being wanted, and he’s not immune to your sincere charms. The sound of zipper teeth parting jars the silence, and his touch goes from your cheek to under your chin. He can feel the thrum of your pulse under his touch. “Give me your hand.”

It’s the first order he’s given you, and a small part of him is unsure you’ll do as he says. And why should you? You’re not his to command, you’d never agreed to even try this out. But… He wants you to want to do what he says.

When you obey, he can’t tell if his heart has stopped or gone to lightspeed. Your hand is smaller, but it’s strong too. Dexterous, with surprisingly smooth skin. He places it against his open fly without another word, letting the next move be yours. Not even a beat is wasted before you’re gently pulling his half hard length.

The darkness was a mixed blessing. The absence of sight elevates your sense of touch. With a soft grip, you give him an experimental stroke. His hips involuntarily jerk forward at the sensation and he makes a soft sound. How is his skin so soft, here?

In an instant, everything was the wet heat of your mouth around him. Over and over, there’s engulfing warmth going down, and then delicious pressure coming up. He wants to escalate things, but this is so nice and so… His train of thought is interrupted when there’s a small gasp, and then you’re no longer sucking his dick. In a moment of weakness, he makes a pitiful, distressed sound.

You can’t help yourself. “Were you enjoying that, Mando?” your voice is a croon and your breath is hot on his need. He doesn’t say anything. A long lick up the underside of his cock has him hissing through clenched teeth. “Yes. Keep going...” and adds without thinking “Sweet Girl”. You give his head a smooch. “Sweet Girl? Is that what you wanna call me?”

He deliberately pulls his member away from you, even going so far as to tuck himself back in his pants. He can talk to you; he can take his time. You deserve that. He kneels onto the bed next to you, stroking your neck. “Yes. You are my Sweet Girl. Aren’t you?” You lean into his touch like a loth cat. “What makes you think I’m sweet?” you ask, voice almost a purr.

He’s against you, his lips are on yours in a hard kiss. When he stops, you let out a small noise of despair. “You’re sweet” he starts, slowly leaning forward and forcing you onto your back, “s-so gentle...soft… make cute noises” His mouth is on your neck when he’s not muttering. You feel him grip your thighs and pull. The feel of the cold cabin air settles on your bare ass and legs.

“I guess that does make me your Sweet Girl.” you sigh out. Eager hands are up your shirt and on your breasts in an instant. He begins to tease and tweak your nipples in turn, certain he has plenty of time before the alarm he’s set to get up and in the air. You take a moment to thank the Maker that his call sign was on the roll when you did your usual check.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your patience. This was more challenging for me to write, but I hope that makes it all the more rewarding to read. 
> 
> I'm happy to announce I've made a Ko-Fi. If you're so inclined, please check it out at [ https://ko-fi.com/hellotroggy ]. 
> 
> This work is a gift to my friend Acacia_Ren, who introduced me to "Rough Day" and continues to be my muse and dearest friend.


End file.
